


Before the Gift

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Bombing, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:25:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: Jack is going home, but first he has to say Goodbye to his favourite prostitute.A prequel to Accept Her Gift





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittenmoon21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmoon21/gifts).



> Exploring Jack Baker’s early years in the Marines.

He always picked Leila. She was small and delicate with huge brown eyes that floored him whenever she looked up into his face.

Her real name wasn't Leila, he knew, but some more exotic moniker from her Polynesian background that the Americans found troublesome to pronounce, so Leila was how she introduced herself.

Jack liked to tease her about her choice of name, singing the Eric Clapton song to her whenever he visited.

“ _ Layla! You got me on my knees! _ ”

She'd laugh, and tease him right back.

“Not yet, I haven't! Get down there.”

Pushing on the top of his head.

He'd always oblige. Not many of the men he served with cared about pleasuring the whore they'd paid for, but Jack did. He loved the smell of pussy, and the taste of it even more, so it was no hardship for him to ride her on the end of his tongue and hear her little squeals as she melted around it. Made her all the wetter for his cock.

But today would be his last visit.

The others had gone to the more upmarket brothels to sample the more expensive wares but Jack wouldn't have dreamed of joining them - not when he had Leila waiting for him in the tumbledown building on the edge of town.

He stood for a moment on the crumbling sidewalk outside, looking at the faded paintwork of the door. He was steeling himself to say goodbye, something that he had no doubt would hurt him more than it would her, but he liked to think she held some affection for him.

Sighing, he opened up and went inside.

 

Magenta greeted him inside.

The big American woman ran the brothel -  she was owner, manager and security all in one, capable of negotiating the meanest deal and of dispatching troublemakers with equal ease. He'd heard stories of how she dealt with misbehaviour: Rumours abounded of soldiers stripped and whipped and tied to the flagpole in the town square with their genitals painted pink and a root vegetable stuck in their ass. She was a legend in this little corner of town, and nobody messed with Magenta.

A former pro herself, she still bore traces of her former glory in the towering spike heels and the gold rings she wore, but her figure had long since disintegrated, her features aged prematurely, and her beauty was as faded as the paint on the outside door and the weave of the mock-Persian rugs on the floor.

Jack always treated her with respect, though. She was a shrewd businesswoman and a formidable Madam, and she always had a smile for him.

“Jack!” she exclaimed in her rough voice as he walked into the dank little lobby. “It's been too long!”

She was seated in an overstuffed wingback chair that he'd never seen her out of, her ridiculous heels propped up on a footstool, the ashtray at her side overflowing. She chain smoked unfiltered cigarettes and her hacking cough could often be heard from the rooms upstairs, drifting up from this tawdry little space.

“Hey Magenta,” he said. “Is Leila working today?”

Magenta frowned, fat mouth sticky with the lipstick that matched her name puckering as she regarded him.

“She is….” she said. “But only just. Didn't she tell you? She's retiring….”

“Really?”

Jack was surprised but not shocked. Leila had often told her about her ambitions: to retire, become respectable, move to the US and start a new life. But he hadn't thought she'd ever accomplish any of her dreams.

Magenta nodded sagely.

“She's bought herself out,” she said. “Would have stopped working before today, but she's been waiting for you…”

There was a touch of reproach in her statement at his long absence, and Jack felt himself flush. He dug into his pocket.

“How much to just….talk?” he asked.

Magenta arched a drawn-on eyebrow.

“Same as it is to fuck,” she said, picking a flake of tobacco from her tongue.

Jack nodded. He hadn't really expected anything less.

Magenta looked away tactfully as she named the price - nearly double what he'd paid previously.

“How is that right?” he demanded, stunned by her mercenary attitude even though he shouldn't have been.

“I'm losing a valuable commodity,” explained Magenta primly. “I've let her live here without accepting clients for a week just so she could say goodbye to you. Using a room that could be used by another whore. Told her you better make it worth my while….”

She glanced sideways at him.

“I ain't running a charity, Jack….”

He paid up. Of course he did, handing over the money into her painted claws.

She tucked the bills away in her cleavage with efficient swiftness, coughing into her curled hand as wreaths of cigarette smoke swirled around her head, and pointed to the stairs.

“Same room as always,” she wheezed. “Have fun…..”

 

Leila was ecstatic, bowling him over as soon as he entered her room.

The little woman made him feel like a king and a giant whenever he saw her, fussing around him, sitting on his knee.

She was a skinny little thing, but he found her frailty alluring. One of his colleagues had seen her once, and told Jack that he should demand a little more meat for his money - “a little more titty and a dang sight more ass” were his words. Jack had punched him, earning himself a week of cleaning out the latrines and the reputation for getting soft over whores.

But Jack didn't care what people thought. He never had.

“How’re you doin’ Leila?” he crooned, picking her up bodily, her little feet swinging above the floor.

She weighed nothing to him: She was a little fairy, no heavier than a moonbeam.

“All the better for seeing you…” she sighed, burying her face in the side of his neck. “I thought you were never going to come. Did Magenta tell you? I have to leave by the end of the week.”

“She told me, all right,” said Jack, his voice gruff to cover his emotion.

“You're the only one I would see,” said Leila.

Her small hands were clasped trustingly around his neck, and he breathed her perfume in deep. It was one he’d bought for her - a token of his affection - and it was as exotic as she was. He would never be able to smell that scent without thinking of her.

“Put me down, Jack,” she ordered. “We need to talk.”

“Oh? That sounds serious…”

He set her on her feet, and she bent her neck to look up at him. He'd come here to talk to her - that was all he'd intended - but her large eyes, too big for her heart-shaped face, had the same effect they always did. He caught her face in his big, scarred hands.

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked softly.

Leila bit her lip.

“Hmmm….I don't think you're in the mood for talking, Jack,” she said.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and he felt one of her hands press him through the front of his khaki pants.

He opened his mouth to protest, to tell her that was exactly the reason he'd come here, but she was already opening his pants with a giggle and a skill learned from too much experience. Jack faltered, wanting to tell her no, but she took hold of him, slim fingers wrapping around the solid meat of his cock, ending his brief resolve.

 

The bed was too short, and his boots always hung off the end of it, but he'd gotten used to it. He knew the creaks and groans it made off by heart, tuned by the thrusts and pounds of countless different men, but the music it made when he was on it with her seemed like it had been composed for him alone.

He laid her out on it, clean sheets stark white against her dark hair, and undid the tie that held her robe closed. She was naked beneath, bathed and shaved and powdered for him, and he took a moment to gaze down at her: her slender body; perfect little upturned breasts; the bare, dainty crease of her pussy lips with their little dewdrops of arousal already present.

“Ah, Leila…” he sighed.

He didn't know how many men she'd fucked during her working life - enough to buy her independence, evidently - but whenever he looked at her body it never betrayed it's experience. She always looked pure and virginal to him. Untouched. Like he was her first.

“Don't look so sad, Jack,” she pleaded.

He hadn't been aware of his expression,  and forced a smile for her, undoing the buttons of his shirt as she lay and watched.

She always clapped her hands with glee when he unveiled himself - went into raptures over his muscles and tattoos, told him how big and strong he was - but today she was solemn and silent. Had it always been an act for a paying customer?

He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, seeing a little tremor pass through her body, the muscles in her thighs tensing.

“Such a big man….” she marvelled quietly, and for the first time Jack realised that  _ this _ was her true response.

Leila stretched up her arms, holding out her hands to him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted.

“Make it count,” she said.

He nodded, sinking down onto the springs as they sagged beneath his weight, putting his knees between hers.

This was it: His last time and hers. He hunched over her, dwarfing her. He'd never kissed her lips and he was too scared to do it now, but he gathered her up with his arms beneath her back, arching her off the mattress, and put his mouth to the tender skin of her neck, feeling her pulse under his lips. She wriggled underneath him, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, and he kissed a rough line along her collarbone, bristles of his beard leaving ruddy marks on her skin.

He tried not to think of sweet Marguerite, waiting for him in Dulvey.

Marguerite was the reason he was leaving the army: He had another job lined up with a private company who wanted his military experience. He'd be closer to home and the woman he intended to marry. Could start a family - something he'd always wanted. He had to close the book on this chapter of his life.

Hating himself, he kissed Leila’s nipples, drawing one of the rigid buds into his mouth, making her squirm.

“I wish we could do this forever, Jack,” she whispered. “Would you like that?”

Her legs curled around his, hips rising off the bed.

Jack didn't answer, his guilt a sour twist in his stomach. Leila tasted like flowers against his tongue - violets and roses - but her words made a bitterness like acid rise in his throat.

She persevered, almost coy, demanding a response as she stroked the curve of his spine.

“Wouldn't it be nice to run away together?” she sighed, heart beating faster against his cheek. “Leave all of this behind? Start a new life where nobody knows us?”

Jack licked a trail down her belly, mapping a path to the valley between her legs. He was determined to quiet her, to quiet the tumult in his mind. She gasped as his tongue parted her lips, nudging the slippery nub of her clit, sucking the beads of her juices from it.

His cock had gone limp at her gentle distraction, but it grew hard again at the sound of her soft moans.

“You do that so well….” she whimpered. “Nobody else can do what you do. Jack, don't you ever think - “

He scraped her with his teeth, slipped his tongue down into the open bloom of her pussy, piercing her.

_ Stop talking! _ He begged her silently, working the flat muscle further in, prying her open.

She flinched under the assault, tightening her legs around the spread of his back then relaxing, opening her thighs wider. His hands went underneath her to the swell of her ass, lifting her to his mouth, sinking his fingers into the satin skin.

“Take me away, Jack!” she said, and it was nearly a sob, small fingers twining in his hair. “Take me back to America! We can start a new life together….”

Jack reared up, pushing down the waistband of his pants to free his cock at the base, and it sprang out, pointing between her legs.

“What's it gonna take to shut you up, huh?” he growled. “You keep talkin’ like that, you could put a man off!”

Leila face registered her shock at the harshness of his tone, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the creeping disappointment in her eyes.

He was angry - angry at what she was insinuating, angry at himself for his duplicity, angry at life for putting this choice in front of him.

He knew where he'd gone wrong - he'd been too soft with her, too affectionate. He'd brought her gifts and talked to her. He'd made her think they were lovers. He hadn't been fair.

He aimed his cock at her cunt, blunt tip pressing into the moist dimple, and pushed.

Leila’s ass jerked up off the bed, opening her up, and he thrust himself up to the hilt with no more delay, gritting his teeth. The moment was ruined now, but he was going to finish what he’d started - not to get his money's worth but to put her straight about him.

He was a bastard. A cur. A rotten, faithless cheater, and the sooner she realised it the better it would be for both of them.

“Did you forget what you are?” he asked, trying his best to ignore the surprise on her face and the pang it gave him. “You're a whore -  one that I just paid an arm an’ a leg for - so shut the fuck up an’ let me do what I came here for!”

His words caused a pain in his chest, regret at his savagery, but he had to say them. It reminded him of his best friend, a fellow Marine called Lucas.

 

_ Lucas had found a fox cub, abandoned by its mother, and the tender-hearted man had rescued it, nursed the creature back to health. He'd given it a name - Orson - and cared for it so well that the animal had grown attached to him. It slept at the foot of his cot, fed from his hand. _

_ On the day that Lucas had realised Orson was well enough to go back to the wild, he had tried to release it. But Orson had refused to go. _

_ “It's too attached to you,” Jack had told his miserable friend. “You was too good to it.” _

_ “Mebbe I'll just keep it,” said Lucas, chewing on his grizzled beard. “Seems cruel to send the poor thing out there when it don't want to….” _

_ Jack had been exasperated. _

_ “Crueller to keep it, Lucas,” he said. “Foxes ain't meant to live with humans! Foxes belong in the wild with their own kind! You gotta make it want to leave….” _

_ So Lucas had done his best, yelling harshly at the animal, hurling stones at it. _

_ Upset and confused, Orson had finally run away from the abuse, disappearing into the forests nearby. _

_ Lucas had been inconsolable. _

_ “That poor little mite,” he said. “Did ya see the look it gave me? I betrayed it! It thought it was my buddy….” _

_ “Was for the best, Lucas,” said Jack, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “It had to learn. Maybe it'll think twice before trustin’ a man again…” _

 

Leila was like Orson: She'd grown to attached, too trusting. The world wouldn't be kind to an ex-whore, and the sooner she realised that and toughened up, the better. This wasn't a fairytale. This was real life.

“Jack…?” she said in a diffident voice.

Her eyes were wide, gazing up at him unblinkingly, but he couldn't be swayed or softened by the emotion they gave him.

He scowled at her.

“What did I just say?” he snarled, slamming back into her.

She gasped, head tipping back, thankfully hiding those puppy eyes from his line of vision.

He started to fuck her, hip bones grinding the inside of her thighs, slamming into her and making her body twitch as he pounded. The tired bedsprings screeched a dischord he had never heard in that room before, an accusatory refrain that jarred in the peaceful atmosphere, and he steeled himself to the unpleasant noise as he stabbed his prick into her harder. No more softness. No more making love. This was fucking, and this was what she should have been used to from the start.

He stared down at her face, watching as it twisted into a grimace, her snatched breaths laboured.

“You think I'd take you with me? Introduce me to my fuckin’  _ family _ ?” he muttered. “How many men have you fucked in your life? How many men have you opened your legs to?”

She blinked, tilting her head towards him, puzzled by his mood and his words, but her face hardened.

“Before you?” she asked. “Or since you? Because obviously I'd have to include you. I know what I am, Jack. And I know what you are: You’re a client. A man who pays to have sex with me - as you just pointed out. So if that’s how you’re going to be, just fucking do it and get out....”

Taken aback, Jack raised himself up on his knees, his thrusts slowing to a halt. She struggled part of the way up, supporting herself on her elbows.

“Why do you want to make me hate you?” she asked “I’m not stupid, Jack. I know that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“Because I know what you want from me,” he said. “And I can’t give it to you…”

She fell silent, then nodded and lay back down, turning her face away once more. 

Feeling awkward, Jack finished up, spilling his poison into her, the force of his orgasm spoiled by their interaction. He slumped over her, rubbing his face in the silky valley between her breasts. He felt like crying for what he’d done, but he hadn’t cried since he was a little kid - his daddy had beaten that impulse out of him, and now he simply wasn’t able.

“I got a woman waitin’ for me back in my hometown. A - “ he took a deep breath. “A  _ respectable _ woman. We’re gonna get married someday…”

He felt her sigh, her chest rising and falling.

“It was just a thought, Jack,” she said. “I understand.”

He pulled out of her, stuffing his slimy cock back in his pants and climbing off the bed. This hadn’t gone how he’d envisioned it. The encounter had been a welter of conflicting emotions, confusing and troubling. The anger he’d directed at her had been anger at himself, but she’d accepted it nevertheless and the knowledge made him feel even worse. She didn’t deserve it. She’d done nothing wrong.

“What will you do?” he asked.

She shrugged, a lacklustre gesture that adequately conveyed her disappointment.

“What I planned to do. I’ll just have to think of another way,” she said. “I don’t need you to do it. It just would have been nice….”

She rolled over on the bed away from him, presenting him with the smooth line of her spine and the delectable little peach of her ass, and the sight of her vulnerable smallness lying there made him want to snatch her up and carry her away with him. He was done with her, and the knowledge hurt him so badly he could barely stand it. He’d never cradle that slight frame against him in bed any more, never cup that sweet little ass in his big hands, never run his tongue between the silky lips of her cunt, never feel her strain and sigh beneath him. It was over, and now she had turned away from him - a symbolism that wasn’t lost on him.

“Goodbye, Jack,” she said, and he was quite unable to read the tone of her voice.

Was she sad? Angry? He couldn’t tell.

He struggled for words, but there were none he could conjure that would be up to the situation, so all he said to her was:

“Goodbye.”

 

Lucas met him back at the barracks. Every time Jack looked at the scrawny motherfucker with his crappy excuse for a beard and awkward, I'll-proportioned limbs he wondered why the man was his best friend.

He was sitting on his bed in his army issue underwear and eating oranges, the peel littering his covers like sharp scented confetti. The man was a slob.

“That was quick,” remarked Lucas. “What's up - your little bird flown the nest?”

“That's so fuckin’ accurate you wouldn't believe it,” grumbled Jack.

He felt worn out by loss, emotionally drained, and slumped down onto his cot.

“She's gone?” asked Lucas. “Sheeit. That's harsh. But I'd be lyin’ if I said it weren't for the best. You didn't oughta be messin’ around with no whore.”

Jack snorted.

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about Lucas?” he said. “You spend all your money on whores!”

“True, true,” said Lucas graciously. “But I ain't you. I ain't got a nice woman waitin’ for me back home. I got nothin’ - not looks nor charm nor anythin’ else. So I gotta buy love.  Nothin’ else for me to spend my money on.”

Jack glanced up at the walls above their beds. Most men had photos pinned to the walls - wives, girlfriends, kids, parents. Lucas’s wall was bare.

“Aw, shit. I'm sorry Lucas. I'm an unfeelin’ asshole.”

Lucas waved his apology away.

“Don't worry ‘bout it none, Jack. It ain't all bad. May not have a family but I got my health. Count your blessin’s my Momma always said. An’ I do. Every damn day.”

He nodded wisely, and Jack felt a sudden surge of something like affection for the odd, lanky man. Lucas might be funny looking but he had a good heart and if nothing else it was nice to have him around as a permanent reminder that things could always be worse.

“I tell you what, Lucas, when I’m married an’ settled down promise me you'll come visit. Have Marguerite make you a nice home cooked supper.”

Lucas grinned.

“I'd like that Jack. I truly would.”

“Well that's settled then.”

Jack lay back on his cot and stared at the ceiling. It wouldn't be long before he was back in Dulvey, then off to start his new job. He was looking forward to it,  and to seeing his mother, but after travelling the world Dulvey felt very small to him, like a tiny room in a giant house. One that was hot and dirty and full of forgotten junk.

Marguerite was the light in that room. A chintzy shade over a bare bulb making the best of everything.

He was a lucky man, really, and he ought to appreciate that, but it was hard with his dick hair still all glued up with the cunt-slime of another woman. A woman he’d let down. He didn't deserve either of them.

“Cheer up, Jack,” said Lucas. “It’ll all turn out okay, you'll see. One day when you're in your fifties, surrounded by your kids, you'll remember today an’ thank your lucky stars you had the chance to start fresh. See if you don't.”

“I know, I know.”

Jack almost smiled then, trying to imagine himself in his fifties. What would he be like? Bald most likely, if his father's head was anything to go by, and probably sporting a beer gut. But that was fine. That was the time of life in which you could sit back and enjoy the fruits of your labours, safe in the knowledge your kids were raised and all you had to worry about was living the rest of your life with the woman you loved.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets a new tattoo and experiences a loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some photos on Tumblr that show Jack's tattoos, and I did some limited research on the designs.
> 
> Jack was originally going to get his skull tattoo in this chapter, but after finding out the meaning of the rune on his back it was so fitting that I had to write that.

“All that's bullshit,  Lucas. I ain't wastin’ my money.”

“Aw, come on Jacko.  Just a little fun. It won't do no harm.”

“You go in if you want,” said Jack. “But I ain't seein’ no fuckin’ fortune teller. I came here to get a tattoo an’ that's all I'm doin’.”

“Huh. Have it your way. I reckon you're just scared,” said Lucas. “Reckon you don't wanna find out if somethin’ terrible’s gonna happen.”

“Nothin’ terrible is gonna happen to me,” said Jack. “My life’s gonna be golden, you wait an’ see.”

Lucas was fumbling in the pockets of his khaki's, scrabbling out crumpled bills. Truth be told, Jack didn't have much money left - he'd spent most of it seeing Leila, and now that he'd decided his future he was going to have to be more careful about what he spent. He wanted kids, a big old family gathered around him he could shower with love while they were little and who would look after him when he was older and infirm. He wanted tons of kids, if God was willing, a veritable army of them! But he'd be happy with one of each - a son like him to carry on the family name, a daughter he could spoil and fuss over.  Marguerite was a healthy woman of strong stock. If her family was anything to go by, she'd spit out babies like clockwork and care for each one like it was her first.

“I'm goin’ in,” said Lucas, bunching his money in his fist. “Come with me if you want, or fuck off if you don't. I wanna see my future!”

“Future ain't writ in stone, Lucas,” said Jack. “Future's like water, takin’ any path it can. She ain't gonna be able to tell you shit!”

Lucas shrugged, bony shoulders rising and dropping like a tic.

“Don't care, Jack. Likely she's a fuckin’ fraud, but in that case she'll tell me some top-class bullshit that'll make me feel good. An’ that'll be worth it.”

He smiled, squinting up at his friend in the noon glare, narrow face taking on a dreamy expression.

“Reckon she'll tell me I'm gonna meet my soulmate - big, fat woman with big, fat tiddies an’ arms that can hug for miles. Woman that can cook pies that'll stick to my ribs an’ fatten me up. I'd be happy with that. All I ever wanted was someone to love. Don't care what she looks like, as long as there's plenty of her.”

Jack couldn't help smiling. His friend may have been fuck ugly but any woman who was prepared to look past that would be in for a fucking treat, in his opinion. Lucas would be a devoted husband given the chance - always ready with a compliment, didn't give a shit about outward appearances, heart of pure fucking gold. There were whores out there who laughed when they saw him - he'd seen it, and Lucas always took it in his stride. But Jack also knew there were a handful of whores on this island who looked forward to the visits of this strange, gangly man. They were the ones nobody wanted - the scarred ones, the deformed ones, the ones who life had treated badly and had turned to whoring for the few paltry dollars it would bring from men who couldn't afford more. But Lucas always paid extra - in cash and in respect. He understood these women. He knew what it was like to be rejected and put down, and when push came to shove he was an angel to those misfits. He was one of them, and he valued them more than anyone else could have done.

Lucas was probably right: She was a fake, mouth full of sweet lies that he wanted to hear in exchange for his dollars,  but if it made the man feel good, where was the harm?

“If you think I'm lettin’ you in there by yourself, you're a fool, Lucas. What if she has a whole bunch o’ sons out back, ready to beat you up an’ rob you, huh?”

Lucas shrugged again, but he was grinning - a crooked, endearing smirk that destroyed the last of Jack’s defenses.

“Reckon I'll count myself lucky for the attention,” said his friend. “Make me feel mighty important! Anyways, ain't no money on me but what I got here -”

He brandished his cash.

“Ain't gonna find nothin’ else, less they want my kidneys, an’ they're all shot to fuck. You comin’ in with me then, big man? I'll toss her an extra couple o’ dollars to do you, too, if ya want.”

Jack shook his head.

“I'll accompany you, my friend, but I ain't gonna participate. An’ after that I'm gonna get my tattoo.”

“Okay, it's a deal. Tell you what - I'll come with you when you're gettin’ inked up. Hold your hand when you cry. Can't say fairer than that!”

 

The woman was younger than Jack had expected - he'd envisioned a bent over crone with a gnarled face, but she was a sturdy woman in her middle age, dressed in everyday clothes and smoking a filterless cigarette.

“Come. Sit.”

She had a no-nonsense air that defied disobedience, and the pair of them sat at her command like their hamstrings had been cut.

She peered at both of them, disconcertingly sharp eyes darting back and forth.

“Which one wants his fortune told?” she demanded.

Lucas leaned over the scarred wooden table and presented his money, laying the bills out for her perusal.

“That would be me, Ma’am. I want the works! As far as y’all can tell.”

The woman examined the money, doing a mental calculation. It seemed she was satisfied, and scraped the money off the table with an efficient sweep of her arm, making it disappear into the ragged depths of her clothing.

“It's enough for both,” she said. “You want both? I do both - no problem.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Lucas’s bony knee was in his thigh, thrusting into the big muscle with some force. His friend was shaking his head, a subdued mirth lighting his eyes, and Jack didn't have the heart to deny him.

The woman paid no notice of their interaction, depositing a deck of stained cards onto the table, puffing cigarette smoke out through both nostrils like some kind of dragon.

“You!”

She pointed a nicotine yellowed finger at Lucas.

“You first. Cut the cards.”

Lucas grinned at her and did as he was told, bracing his fingers around the deck and making a cut roughly half way. The woman snatched the wad from him, jaw jerking to shower ash onto the table top, and she spread the cards in her hands, making a fan.

“Pick three,” she said.

Jack watched with some amusement as Lucas regarded the cards. He was taking it far too seriously in Jack’s opinion, fingers twitching spastically like it actually meant something, until he plucked one from near the centre then selected another two from either side.

“Good.”

The woman dumped the surplus of cards and held her hand out, palm up, for the ones Lucas had chosen. There was a scar on the delicate skin there, cutting through the lines that would mean a great deal to a palm reader but meant nothing to Jack other than she'd wounded herself cooking.

Lucas placed his cards on the extended hand with reverence, and the fortune teller curled her fingers around them.

“Each card has a meaning,” she said in a conversational tone. “But the meaning depends on the order, and the person, and what I sense from each. What means one thing for one person is different for another. You understand?”

“Yes, miss,” said Lucas, clasping his hands on his lap and leaning forward.

“Okay. Good.”

The woman dealt the cards onto the table,  their faces up, and studied them with fierce concentration. She frowned, a deep line forming between her bushy brows, going from left to right then right to left.

“What's it say,  Ma’am?” asked Lucas as the silence stretched.

She shook her head like she was trying to dislodge a troublesome thought, blinking rapidly. Jack had been prepared for an extravagant fable, vague predictions and interchangeable advice mashed in together, but she faltered, eventually taking the cigarette from her mouth and crushing it into the clamshell ashtray at her elbow.

“No future….” she said in a hushed tone. “None. Nothing.”

She looked up at Lucas, emotion finally registering on her face. She reached across the table and took Lucas’s hand, and Jack was shocked to see a tear forming in the corner of one of her eyes.

“My friend, I mourn for you,” she said. “I am sorry. You are a good person, I know, but I cannot tell your fortune. There is nothing to tell.”

Lucas pulled his hand away from hers. He looked sick, his cheeks going pale beneath the shadow of his beard.

Jack was pissed. Didn't this woman understand her fucking job?

“Hold up, lady,” he said, trying to quash his anger. “He wants his fortune told! Tell him his good shit! It's what he paid for!”

She was shaking her head before he'd finished, her eyes downcast and full of sorrow.

“I tell the truth,” she said. “Not what people want to hear. I'm sorry.”

“This is bullshit!” raged Jack. “Don't fuckin’ listen to her, Lucas! She don't know nothin’.”

The woman looked away discreetly, gathering up her cards. Lucas cleared his throat.

“Do his,” he said, his voice limp and defeated.

“What?”

Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“Hey - Ma’am? Do his. You said you would.”

“I don't want it,” said Jack, sneering at the charlatan as she shuffled the pack together.

“Well I do!” said Lucas, showing unusual defiance. “If I ain't got no future least I can satisfy my curiosity about yours!”

The woman was setting the cards in the middle of the table, her eyes downcast. Jack wanted to hit the cards from the table - fling out his arm and scatter them. He was scared at what secrets the cards might hold and he didn't want to admit it.

“Cut the cards,” she said.

Muttering to himself, Jack did as he was told, cutting further down than Lucas had. Superstitiously, he felt that if he picked up more cards he'd have a chance at a longer life.

His palms were sweaty as he handed the partial deck to the woman, and once again she fanned them out.

“Pick three,” she told him, and Jack did so without considering, grabbing three cards next to each other.

“Here. Cook up your fuckin’ lies,” he snapped, tossing his three cards onto the table.

She picked them up without a word and dealt them face up, peering at the first one with a look of relief suffusing her features.

“This first one,” she said. “It shows sacrifice. But not a needless one. You have made or will make a difficult choice, a life changing one, and the decision will benefit your life path. You must cast off your old ways and look to the future.”

Jack tried hard to keep his face immobile, but he was surprised. It sounded like his situation with Leila, but he knew that people like this kept things deliberately vague so that their predictions could apply to anyone. He didn't intend to fall for it.

“The next one represents Family. Your old family, the one you were born into - there was much conflict. But it's all right now. You want children, yes?”

She didn't wait for a reply.

“You will have four: Two boys, two girls. One of the girls…..”

She stopped, her forehead creasing, looking confused, and Jack found himself gripping the edge of the table, suddenly terrified for the fate of the unknown child.

“What? She gonna die? What is it?”

The woman rubbed the bridge of her nose, blinking rapidly.

“The younger girl….she will be a- a  _ gift _ in your later life?”

She sounded uncertain, but forged on anyway.

“She will surprise you, but I can't see any more than that.”

She turned her head and moved onto the next card more confidently.

“This one is your destiny - your fate. It is all tied in with your family. Family is very important!”

She held up her hands, lacing her fingers together to demonstrate.

“You see? Like this.”

She looked down again.

“You will be tested. There will be changes. You will  _ grow. _ There is a family member you are estranged from - you will be reunited with him eventually. I can see all this, but the rest is hidden from me…”

Jack snorted in derision.

“Life’s all about changes!” he said. “Could tell the same thing to anyone an’ it would turn out true. Fuck this nonsense - let's get outta here, Lucas.”

His friend nodded, but he looked out of sorts and miserable and Jack felt a stab of pure rage for the woman sitting opposite. She had no right to say what she did, fuck up his good mood like that. Bitch.

They left the little shack, stepping out into the sunshine. It had been gloomy and smokey in there, and the brightness was a relief.

“Don't you pay her no mind,” advised Jack. “She don't know shit.”

Lucas nodded, his face as gloomy as the inside of the shack had been.

“You're prolly right,” he said. “But I don't see why she had to do that. What I ever do to her?”

“Don't let it bother you no more, said Jack as they crossed the street, headed for the tattoo parlour.

“Feel like I need a beer after that,” Lucas said mournfully. “You want one?”

“Naw - I wasted enough time already. You go on an’ get one. I'll join you when I'm done.”

Lucas nodded and sloped off across the street with that peculiar bent-legged gait he had. Jack shook his head as he watched him go. Man was as gullible as hell.

 

He had intended to get his skull tattoo added to - he'd only been able to afford a basic one before, and he wanted Death Before Dishonor written underneath, but he felt antsy after seeing the fortune teller and considering what she'd told Lucas….it didn't seem right.

There were pages of flash pinned to the walls, and he perused them while he waited his turn, the buzz of the tattoo gun humming in the back room. He couldn't get a big one today, so avoided the large colourful designs in favour of the smaller, simple ones.

“Jack Baker! You back for more?”

A large red-bearded man appeared from one of the back rooms, wiping ink from his hands. His fingers were stained blue, the colour ingrained in the creases of his knuckles and grimed under his nails.

“Uh-huh. Lookin’ for somethin’ simple today, Lars. Any recommendations?”

Lars grinned, revealing an uneven set of teeth.

“You bet! See here.”

He flipped open a folder and extracted a sheet of paper scrawled with stark, angular symbols.

Jack regarded them doubtfully.

“What are those?” he asked. “Some kind o’ pagan thing? Cuz my momma would tan my hide if I went home with some heathen writin’ on my skin.”

“They're runes,” said Lars. “From my viking heritage! Just an alphabet, Jack, although they can be used in divination. But each one has more meanings than just letters. You choose the one that appeals to you and I'll explain what it means.”

Jack felt uncomfortable: In his mind it was far too much like the card reading he'd just had, but he scanned the list out of politeness, selecting one at random.

“What's that one?”

“That's the  _ Inguz  _ symbol. It’s particularly concerned with the health, wellbeing and fertility of men. But it's more than that: It stands for new beginnings too, the start of a new phase, like a new job, maybe? Finishing up old business and turning away from paths that are leading nowhere.”

Jack stared at the rune, a simple thing of two interconnected X’s, and couldn't believe just how relevant it was. He made a decision.

“I'll take that one,” he said.

 

Jack kept his shirt off, tucking it into the waistband of his khakis. The new wound was sore like a tiny patch of sunburn on his shoulder, and he worried that the mosquitos would be drawn to the fresh blood, but he didn’t want blood spots on his shirt either.

Lucas was nowhere to be seen, and Jack assumed he was still in the bar, drowning his sorrows in suds. It would be cool in there, and dim, and even though he had very little money left after paying for the tattoo he knew his friend to be very generous. Jack started to walk across the street to join him, thinking how good a beer would taste.

He was too late, though - before he’d taken ten steps Lucas’s familiar form appeared in the doorway, the skinny man waving a cheerful hand above his head. He had a sunny grin on his face, and despite his disappointment Jack couldn’t help grinning. The influence of a couple of beers had evidently cheered his friend up, and he was glad. There was no point in him brooding over what the fortune teller had said.

Lucas was calling out, shouting something to him, but Jack couldn’t hear what he was saying, and seeming frustrated Lucas set off to meet him halfway.

There was a car parked by the bar, a rusty looking old thing with bald tires, and Lucas skirted it with the exaggerated care of someone who had probably drunk too much. He looked obscenely happy, brimming over with untold news, and Jack quickened his step, finding himself eager to discover what had perked his friend up.   
“Jack!” yelled Lucas. “You ain’t never gonna believe what happened!”

“Maybe I will,” bellowed Jack. “Why dontcha tell me an’ we’ll find out?”

“I’ll tell ya right now!” he called with tipsy exuberance, and staggered slightly as his foot hit a pothole in the road.

His elbow hit the parked car, and Jack had time to see the dismayed expression on the other man’s face just before it disappeared.

 

The explosion shook the ground beneath Jack’s feet and in his confusion he thought there had been an earthquake, even with the sound of the blast still ringing in his ears.

He fell onto his back, the force toppling him like a felled tree, and his teeth snapped together on his tongue, filling his mouth with the taste of blood. He felt the back of his head hit the dirt, but it was a distant sensation, and he lay in confusion with debris raining down on him.

He could smell burning, and there was dust stinging his eyes, but it was curiously silent - almost peaceful. Jack stared up at the sky, trying to work out what had happened, watching billows of smoke drift above his face. They curled and roiled, making shifting patterns that he felt had some kind of meaning if only he could translate them.

Someone ran past his head, and he flinched at how close the shoes came to him. Why couldn’t people look where they were going?

It was comfy on the ground, more so than he would ever have imagined, and he decided to stay there for a while.

A face appeared, upside down - a shocked expression framed by a dangling red beard. Jack knew the face from somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where at that moment. The mouth within the beard was opening and closing, but it made no sound, the tongue flapping uselessly inside.

Jack felt hands under his arms, hauling him to a sitting position, and he felt angry that someone was disturbing him, but as he was propped up the carnage came into view, bringing him back to himself with a snap.

The car where Lucas had been was gone, leaving a flaming bouquet of twisted metal in its place. Parts of it were scattered in the street, like the single wheel with bits of melted rubber clinging to it, but other parts had smashed through the windows of the bar, doing god knew what damage inside.

Lucas. Where was Lucas? He had been right there.

Jack struggled to his feet. The hands were back, trying to help him, but he pushed them away, wobbling away from the interference on jello legs. He called out to Lucas, but his voice sounded muffled in his head, like it had been stuffed full of feathers.

There was something forming in the pit of his belly, a horrible sick feeling that he tried to ignore as he scanned the devastation with his sore eyes. Everything was unfocused and blurry, and he realised that the lenses of his glasses were shattered.

He pulled the frames from his face, dropping them to the ground, and called out again. Though his throat hurt from the force behind his yell, Lucas’s name was a tiny thing, distant and quiet and insignificant.

His chest hurt. Not a physical pain but an emotional cramping that made him want to cry. He stumbled onward, feeling the heat of the flames that licked the wreckage pushing against him.

There was blood on the ground, gaudy splashes of it that were too bright, too fake looking. Someone was at his elbow, an irritating presence that wouldn’t leave him alone, and he struck out at them with a weak sweep of his arm.

His ears crackled, and some of his hearing came back, but it was accompanied by a high-pitched whine that wouldn’t quit.

“Lucas!”

“H-s gone, -ack.”

Whoever was next to him was trying to speak, but the voice stuttered in an out.

“-on’t look!”

He ignored them - he could see something on the ground, something he couldn’t make sense of. He stooped down, peering at the bundle of objects - long thin things held together by something wet and red.

He recognised those fingers - knuckly and skinny, with spatulate fingertips, a scar across the pad of one thumb where Lucas had caught it on razor wire as a kid. The hand was on its back, curled like a dead crab, the lines of the palm obscured with gore, and he let his gaze travel to the wrist. There was an arm attached - a knobbly elbow, the stark white of a t-shirt tan-line, then nothing, except a ragged mush where it had once been joined to his buddy.

Jack reached out to pick it up, but then the ground was approaching too fast, a black blur closing in around the edges of his vision, and after that he knew nothing for a while.


End file.
